


Paper Cup

by seimaisin



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-16
Updated: 2003-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:41:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/171042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, late a night, Sam danced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Cup

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration courtesy of Heather Nova's "Paper Cup."

Sometimes, late at night, alone at home too late for most humans to conceive of, Sam danced. It was a private thing, something she never shared with anyone. Even when she was dating, she kept her strange little secret from the men who shared her bed.

But, alone, late at night, she'd turn on a CD - something old, usually, a holdover from her college days, or perhaps an old Motown record (on vinyl) from her Dad's old collection, which she inherited after he left. (Apparently, the Tok'ra weren't much for the Temptations. Their loss.) The music would play out of her stereo speakers, softly; even though no one else could hear it, it still seemed disrespectful to turn it up. The night whispered to her, it only seemed right to whisper back.

The music played, and she danced. Around the kitchen table, twirling like a five year old playing ballerina, sashaying across the living room floor, her arms linked with an invisible partner's. If anyone from the base could see her, they'd laugh themselves to death, but she'd stopped worrying about that a long time ago. Her house was her territory, her rules, her refuge. There, she could dance without repercussions. When the music played, she didn't have to be an Air Force officer, or a scientist, or an explorer. Not that she didn't love those things - they defined her, made up the very fiber of the being called Samantha Carter - but, sometimes, she wished she could be someone else. Everyone did, she supposed.

This wasn't an escape wish. She had those, often - the ones that made her wish for her motorcycle and the open road, wish that she could speed away and go as far as her tank of gas could take her, see the country, never return. Escape wishes came when she was broken. Dancing dreams came when she was content.

The music flowed through her body like a drug, and she kicked aside the book she was reading to clear a dancing space in front of the couch. The song was slow, sensual ... it entered her body through her fingertips and wound its way through her arms, her spine, down into her hips and legs. Her body snaked, from top to bottom, as she felt the notes dance up her vertebrae. She wasn't a very good dancer, she knew, but here alone, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the music and the movement.

Major Carter moved very purposefully. Major Carter was trained to sit still, wait for a threat, move only when needed. Major Carter would never dream of shaking her ass. She thought about it sometimes, though. She wondered what her team members would think if she started grinding against them. She was female - they were all attractive man - but, in the end, the thought made her giggle so hard that she collapsed back on the couch.

No, they wouldn't understand. Colonel O'Neill, despite any lingering attractions, would look at her like she was stone cold crazy if he knew she danced. Daniel would pretend to understand, but in reality, he'd look at her with his anthropologist eyes, studying the wild Carter in her natural habitat. Teal'c would just raise an eyebrow. Come to think of it, maybe Teal'c would dance with her. She never knew about him.

Speculation aside, she knew she'd never share her dancing with anyone, not even if she found the love of her life and married him. (A possibility that was becoming less and less likely, it seemed, with every passing birthday.) Samantha Carter didn't dance. The woman who danced only existed when she was alone, between the hours of one and four in the morning. The woman who danced was a mystery to Sam, but she was a pleasant one. She was a mystery she didn't want to share.

She'd lived enough to know that she was only free when she was alone.

At night, when no one was watching, Sam danced.


End file.
